GWTW Limericks
by Deep Forest Green
Summary: A lyrical celebration of Scarlett's Irish heritage. Rated T for themes.
1. Chapter 1

Just a short series of limericks I wrote inspired by Gone with the Wind. Some frivolous, some a little more serious. May be continued if I get enough feedback.

* * *

There was a plantation called Tara

That was owned by a man named O'Hara.

Though it fell to the Yankees,

Don't get out your hankies;

It defined the Civil War era.

xxxxx

There once was a fellow named Rhett

Who was incapable of regret.

Though he added, "Mind you,

That isn't quite true-

There's this girl I wish I'd never met."

xxxxx

There was a man from the old sod

Who believed most devoutly in God.

Though his voice was like Moses,

Unlike one supposes,

Most often he did spare the rod.

xxxxx

There was a nice place called Twelve Oaks

Where gathered the finest of blokes.

When a discord erupted,

Gerald interrupted,

"We'll debate this till somebody croaks."

xxxxx

The thing about life in the South

Is most often you must shut your mouth.

For gossip abounds,

And the meanness confounds,

If you mispronounce a name like Goethe.

xxxxx

There once were two fellows named Tarleton

Who fell in love with a young harlequin.

Though society warned them

And family scorned them,

They danced through the night with that charlatan.

xxxxx

There once was a madam named Belle,

Who was told she was going to hell.

Though she never repented,

The girl fin'ly relented:

"If Rhett's there, then it's just as well."

xxxxx

There once was a doctor named Meade

Who was quite an old fellow indeed.

For his hearing was bad

And it made him quite mad,

We prescribed him medicinal weed.

xxxxx

In the wake of old General Sherman,

The town of Atlanta was burnin'.

In the foreground, a kiss;

Oh, what cinema bliss!

We need the director Baz Luhrmann.

xxxxx

There was a young fellow named Ashley

Who refused our girl Scarlett quite brashly.

When she asked him to go

With her to Mexico,

He said, "My dear, we mustn't act rashly."

xxxxx

If you ever should go to a ball,

You will not have a good time at all.

Hurl a vase from a shelf,

Make a fool of yourself,

And the boys will not come when you call.

xxxxx

The world of M. Mitchell's Atlanta

Seems a tale no more truthful than Santa.

If you go there today,

You'll have glamour and sway

With your cell phone and bottle of Fanta.


	2. Chapter 2

Due to popular demand, this is chapter 2 of my now two-shot GWTW fanfic. This is it, folks. Please don't ask me to write any more. Limericks are hard, and my brain is being squeezed dry of rhymes. This set is slightly raunchier that the last one- not quite Nantucket level, but close. And, of course, since I'm a huge Mizzie as well as a Windie, I had to include a Les Miz reference. I may write a set of limericks about Les Miz, if I get some encouragement (wink wink). This is 30 limericks in all- a nice, round number. Please do not get angry at the thematic ones, I am using irony!

* * *

There once was a girl named Suellen

Who thought that with Frank she was well in.

When her big sister Scarlett

Stole him just like a harlot,

She screamed to the whole world, "I'm tellin'!"

xxxxx

There was a white-trash girl named Slattery

Who was most receptive to flattery.

When she married Mist' Jonas,

She thought that she'd shown us

A lady of the Charleston battery.

xxxxx

There was a young fellow named Wade;

With his fortune, he had it all made.

But it's shrouded in scandal,

It's just too much to handle,

For it all came from Charleston's blockade.

xxxxx

If a fellow you want to impress,

You must first find an elegant dress.

But if you've looked around

And there's none to be found

Then some curtains might ease your distress.

xxxxx

When Rhett returns from God-knows-where,

With your word choice you must take great care.

If he angers you so,

You'll deliver a blow

And end up tumbling down a stair.

xxxxx

The thing you should know about Pitty

Is she isn't what you would call witty.

If she sees any faults,

She needs her smelling salts

Or else things will get not-so-pretty.

xxxxx

There was a young man named Fontaine

Who came bursting in from the rain.

He stopped quickly and fled

For he feared he'd be dead

If they found that Wilkerson he'd slain.

xxxxx

When you auction a lady demure,

You may end up causing a stir.

Sell a girl like a slave?

That's no way to behave!

Well, unless she's a darky, then sure.

xxxxx

You can do without a reputation,

You can be the black sheep of a nation,

If you've got anough gumption,

You won't mind the presumption

That you've engaged in penetration.

xxxxx

There was this real scumbag named Archie

Whose temperament was quite starchy.

He didn't do squat

Except get his wife shot-

Oh my God, I just really hate Archie.

xxxxx

If a Yankee comes in who deserts,

It is only your pride that he hurts

If you shoot his fat face;

And it's not a disgrace

If you then hide him under your skirts.

xxxxx

If events ever come to a fizz,

Just keep calm, and start reading Les Miz.

If the Yankees persist,

Then just raise up your fist

And say, "It's anti-slavery, it is."

xxxxx

There once was a slave girl named Prissy

Whom everyone thought was a sissy.

Though she ran through a blaze,

Being bold never pays;

They just slap you and then call you "missy".

xxxxx

The lady Ellen Robillard

Knew that her reputation was marred.

O'er her cousin Phillippe

She lost hours of sleep,

All because she bet on the wrong card.

xxxxx

If you're going on a honeymoon,

Go to Nawlins, and find a saloon.

They'll dance to Offenbach

At all hours of the clock

In the loveliest shades of maroon.

xxxxx

If you want to make your aunty frown,

Just go at night through Shantytown.

For it's your fault, of course,

If someone steals your horse

And tries to pull your panty down.

xxxxx

As a widow, you must dress in black;

If you dance, they will cut you no slack.

Even if to raise money,

They'll gossip 'bout you, honey,

Saying "Values are under attack!"

xxxxx

If you're acting particularly hammy,

Don't try to pull that stuff on Mammy.

She'll look into your soul

Till yo' blood done run cole

And inside you'll be feeling quite clammy.


End file.
